Below the Surface

It’s my 34th birthday today.  Not at all how I thought I would spending my birthday.  It hurts.  It really does.  But that doesn’t mean I am sobbing all the time.  Actually, with the amount I cried last week I would be suprised if I had any tears left.

I am sad. I am having good days and bad days and I am just trying to take things one minute at a time.  I can’t answer the question “How are you feeling?”.   I don’t know how to answer that.

People are surprised I am not sobbing in bed all day.  That’s what they think depression looks like. Like someone holding their head in despair – which as illustrated by this article and campaign – is just not true. 

The week I broke down I had been to volunteer meetings, an industry dinner, a wine night and the Rihanna concert.  I was exhausted from holding it all together.  From playing a part but from the outside looking in (or from my Facebook page), I am sure is seemed as though I was living a semi-charmed life.

Even now, I was out last night for a drink and a catch up with some old friends.  And I am sure that’s what the people in the pub saw – a table of four friends.  I saw an idiot talking nonsense because she was afraid of the silence.  Afraid of letting the conversation get “too real”.  (That idiot being me).

I don’t know how to talk about and so I don’t.

But just because I don’t talk about it, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.  I spent most of today in bed.  Wasting the day away because I just can’t believe this is my life.

What a mess.  What a f**king mess.